


Categorical

by Ishti



Series: Mu11berry's Winter Exchange Gift [2]
Category: Aveyond
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 01:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti
Summary: Part 2!





	Categorical

Dameon liked lists. He prided himself on being an analytical person, weighing pros and cons in every situation, mentally charting the behavior of those around him over time. He had a list for everything, from the Oracle's favorite foods (potato soup, cold and spicy rice noodles, and lemon pie, in that order) to the blessings he said every morning in the temple (the chant of breath, the blessing of creation, the sunrise exaltation, and the warmth prayer) to the people he trusted with his thoughts (the Oracle. That... was a very short list.)

The Oracle  _knew,_  he was certain, what she instigated when she arranged for him to meet that girl in the sun temple. He wouldn't tell her that his heart skipped a beat when the girl walked in, but she  _knew,_  without question. She probably arranged it somehow, divined their spark long before Dameon ever heard the name "Rhen Pendragon".

At least the Oracle didn't know that he colluded with Ahriman.

Or... maybe she did.

They were weeks into their quest, and Dameon wished he didn't have so many lists; he'd never spent time this close to  _so many people_  at once. There was Lars and everything he hated (scratchy blankets, walking through snow, the smell of cheese, Dameon) and Te'ijal's ranking of the potential tastiness of her human companions (Galahad, then Elini, Dameon, John, Rhen, Lars, and Marge last) and Galahad's long list of things in which he didn't believe (magic, vampires, elves, ghosts, dragons, fairies, werewolves, genies, the minor gods, militant squirrels, love). It was easy to categorize these people, break them down into their obvious parts and store away the discrete knowledge for later use.

Rhen, on the other hand, was not so simple.

He was attracted to her. This was obvious to him from the moment they met. What was less obvious was how clouded his judgment would become in her presence. She was a lilac butterfly flitting just over his head, and he couldn't reach high enough, couldn't pin her to his corkboard. She didn't  _fit together_  the way the others did. She was both the unwritten book and the author, pen in hand, ready to write something that might someday make sense, but still waiting. Still open.

They were in Sedona. Rhen told her gaggle of companions to disperse for a bit, relax, take in the fresh, stinky air. John stayed beside her, hauling a great deal of luggage. Lars left to find a sauna; Elini tagged along. Galahad visited the smith to have his blade sharpened, Marge popped into the saloon for a drink, and the heavens only knew where Te'ijal went. Dameon kept up with Rhen, hoping to get a chance to speak with her, but she and John chatted as if they were a single person, picking up one another's thoughts in one run-on sentence.

"Whew, I'm shaking a little. Thanks for carrying all that stuff."

"My pleasure. Caught a case of the chills, then?"

"No! It just feels weird, going back to the manor now, you know?"

"Yeah, after the guy who sold it to us tried to assassinate the king? I dunno, Rhen, maybe we should just stay at the inn."

"What, do you think it's haunted by the ghost of Lord Gavin's dignity?"

Every time she made a joke,  _every time,_ Dameon felt hot. He chuckled under his breath.

"Let's get a pet. I'm thinking a dog would be nice."

"Why a dog?"

"To sniff out other creeps and traitors."

John's words stung Dameon, but of course he'd never let it show.  _Creeps and traitors..._  He was certainly the second, and more lately, he was beginning to feel like the first. How could he pursue Rhen for Ahriman's gain when he genuinely  _felt_  something for her? He had to think of it less as beguiling her and more as... convincing her gently that there was more for her on the demons' throne than in the realm of mortals.

It felt increasingly hopeless as time passed. Her benevolence constantly surprised him--she helped that boy cross the ocean just to get him to school, she used her own potions to heal the ailing folk of Dirkon, she rescued King Lionel and returned him to his people... He doubted she could ever turn to the demons after all the good she'd spread. The running list of her kind deeds was a little too long for him to remember, sometimes.

His memory had been failing him lately. He couldn't even remember his own name when she made him blush.

Lord Gavin's party was one such time.

Rhen was a short girl, the kind who looked like a doll made of spun sugar, but he knew every lean muscle beneath her creamy skin--in his dreams, he knew them, anyway. The emerald dress she wore to the ball shimmered in the low candlelight, complementing the sparkle in her wide, purple eyes.

Dameon, of course, wore his druidic robes. The clean set. The set not covered in the blood of ravwyrns and orcs.

He was always smooth, mechanical, charming. The nobility loved it, but if Rhen found it attractive, she rarely let on. She was the type to laugh off any advances. She matched his charisma with her own steel grace, a perfect facsimile of the sword she wielded in combat. He didn't know if she liked him at all.

(This was the comprehensive list of things Dameon  _did_  know about Rhen:

  * Her best friends from childhood were two boys, Peter and Danny. 
    * Because of them, she grew up roughhousing and playing pranks, a master of both sport and craft.
  * She has exceptionally long eyelashes, accentuated by her high cheekbones.
  * She didn't know how to cook until she worked in Rona's house. 
    * She doesn't enjoy it.
  * Her favorite color is green.
  * She's allergic to pollen. 
    * But she's okay with leaf mold, so she likes autumn and not spring.
  * She twitches in her sleep, but never talks. 
    * She usually sleeps curled up on her side with her hands resting just above her head and her lips slightly parted.
  * She doesn't like that her nose turns up at the very end.
  * She has read a few dozen action novels, all of which she got from the peddler who visits Clearwater a couple times a year, and every single book on Dyonna's bookshelf. 
    * She knows quite a lot about the parts of a ship and which insects are best for the production of aquifolium.
  * She prefers greatswords, but she likes to fence with John's rapiers.
  * If she laughs so hard that she scrunches her eyes shut, she'll sneeze.
  * She doesn't want to be queen.



That last one gave him small hope, and that hope may have been the only thing carrying him forward in his wicked quest.)

But... the ball. Rhen had secured only one invitation to the ball, and she could only bring one of her companions as a guest. And she chose Dameon. Not Lars, the noble, who would feel right at home, the one who could guide her through the motions of playing dress-up with rich snobs. Not Galahad, the Sedonan paladin, who knew everyone there and could introduce Rhen to anyone she fancied. Not... well, those were her only two rational options, but one way or another, she invited Dameon, and he didn't understand why.

And there she was, all shimmer and eyelashes and spun sugar, sipping from a crystal flute of sparkling cider and cracking jokes with the high chancellor's wife. He kept himself busy, skipping between aristocrats for the standard _"how do you do, how are your children, isn't the Gruyère simply luscious this evening,"_  but his eyes always drifted back to Rhen, checking what she was doing, who she was talking to. She was a magnet, and he had an iron heart.

(Another one for the list: she didn't small-talk. She dug in, extracted what was really on your mind, and made you laugh, reveling in the surprise you felt at your own laxity. Everyone reveled. It was plain on their faces that they never expected a wit like Rhen Pendragon.)

Dameon lost himself, hearing her finish telling the harbormaster a joke about barques, watching as the light in her eyes sparked him into roaring laughter, her smiling mouth ajar as she drank in his mirth. (Another one: her teeth were perfect, as was her arrowhead jaw. She was cut from marble by the hand of a sculptor.) She popped to attention as the ballroom orchestra crescendoed, and Lord Gavin, aperitif in hand, strode to the dance floor.

"My friends!" he called, sweeping his free hand to summon all of his guests. "Please join me in celebrating the phenomenal Sedonan Philharmonic Orchestra, who have graciously acquiesced to play for us this evening! As they perform for us, let us perform for them in joyous dance!"

Rhen rolled her eyes, a little smirk cavorting across her lips. That, Dameon noted, was one thing he could always expect from her.

He didn't expect her to hunt him down again.

She trotted over to him, arms loose and confident by her sides, and she looked up at him (she really was so short) and said, "Dameon! I've missed you this evening. Please come dance with me."

That, right there in that ballroom, was the first time Rhen Pendragon made Dameon really, honestly, unintentionally, thoroughly blush.

He'd blushed at her before. He made sure to pepper plenty of red noses into their first meeting in the sun temple. Of course it wasn't so difficult; he found her attractive, so summoning a little color to his cheeks didn't take tremendous effort... but he did it very deliberately. Everything he did back then was deliberate. He controlled the scene, or at least, he thought he did--and now, he felt the reins slipping from his shaking hands.

They danced. Although Rhen left to dance with other partners once or twice, she always came back to him. He forgot his mission. He forgot Ahriman, and he forgot how much he hated the Veniara Two-Step, and he forgot that he didn't quite feel like he was the right man to be her plus-one. She made him blush, and he forgot everything except how to waltz and how to look charming.

It was a little odd. He pretended to care for her, because under that, he meant to corrupt her. But under  _that..._  he  _did--_

"Dameon."

"Mm?"

"You spaced out pretty badly right then, you know."

Rhen stood in front of him, wearing her sword-singer armor, her arms crossed. She looked a little worried. Lord Gavin's manor was just behind her--cordoned off with Sedonan royal guards, the windows dark in the daylight. He heard a door creak open at his back as John entered the manor they bought at the party over a week ago.

Dameon blinked the memory from his eyes. "So I did."

"That's not like you. Everything all right?"

"Oh! Yes. Yes, absolutely."  _I'm supposed to be wooing this girl... I need to snap out of it._  "I was just remembering the last night we spent in Lord Gavin's mansion, actually."

She tilted her head, lowered her arms. "Oh, yes... before we realized he meant to kill the king."

Dameon winced internally. "I'm glad he was caught, but even despite his involvement, I think we made some fond memories at the ball."

"I don't know, Dameon. It's hard to remember that night fondly." She pushed through the front door to her manor, and Dameon followed. "Although the charcuterie was delicious."

"You mean... you have no positive memories of that night at all?" Dameon cranked up the hurt in his voice so it would be just noticeable, but below the charade, he actually  _was_ a little hurt. Dameon was never one to feel wounded; that made this strange ache especially troubling, a worrisome raindrop in an arid desert.

(In his head, he asked,  _"Shall I remind you?",_  and then he took her hand and led her in a waltz around the dining room table, and they spent an hour dancing and staring at one another and not saying another word, because Dameon liked it better that way, and maybe he was afraid of what would happen if they spoke.)

And then, in reality, she surprised him again.

She sighed and smiled wide-- _oh, gods, that smile_ \--and looked to the ceiling, her arms crossed behind her head. A little color rose to her cheeks, and Dameon could feel his heart accelerate.

"All right... it was a fun night, if you forget about the man who hosted it." She didn't look him in the eye, still staring far above his head. "It was nice talking to people I haven't spent the past couple months babysitting. That, and... all right, can I tell you a secret?"

She was finally staring him straight in the eye. He realized he wasn't prepared for what that gaze did to him. "My lips are sealed, my lady."

"Ugh, don't call me that; you sound like Galahad." Her perfect nose wrinkled. "Well... I don't know how to dance."

They were standing in the main hall now, just past the kitchen; Rhen had turned heel and walked backwards while they talked, but she stopped before reaching the end of the hall. She smiled candidly and shrugged.

"But you  _did_ dance," said Dameon, raising an eyebrow.

"I just followed you. You know, you actually have this way of... showing me what to do without knowing it. Sort of adjusting yourself when I'm not where I'm supposed to be, as if  _you're_  the one who's not where you're supposed to be. So I learned from you that night."

Dameon paused. He bit his tongue. That... was something he wasn't aware of.

Her cheeks were a little pinker now. "I've also learned a lot about moving through rhythm from sword singing," she continued. "I have that magic in me. But really, it's not as if we had grand parties in Clearwater! Danny and I used to pretend to dance when we felt like playing nobles, but we had no idea what we were doing."

The laugh in her voice made his heart jump. He wondered how much more  _Rhen_  he could take before he lost his satiny cool.

"You were an excellent student," he said, and he was relieved to hear the smoothness in his own tone. "So excellent, in fact, I had no idea I was the teacher."

She stepped closer to him, her smile soft, her lips parted in the middle the way they did when she was very happy (another item for the list).

_Why is she looking at me that way?_

"You're an excellent teacher," she said.

His head was screaming at him,  _you have to continue on towards your goal, keep leading her further into your clutch, be evasive, be suave, don't touch her, don't TOUCH her, walk away from this girl and don't let her get hurt, go back to Aveyond and pretend you never met her, let Ahriman do what he wants with you, don't touch her, do touch her, run a hand down her cheek and cup her jaw and lean down and kiss her, kiss her, KISS HER oh my gods--_

She turned away.

"Dameon."

His heart was thumping, his hands were shaking, his face was hot and his stomach was too (there's a new list: "Things Rhen Pendragon Does To Me When She Looks At Me Like That") and he wasn't sure how to calm it all down because never in his life had he felt like this before.

"Yes?"

"Why are you fond of me?"

He nearly collapsed.

Instead, he said, "What do you mean?"

She turned back to face him. "You've been flirting with me since we met, and it doesn't make sense. Back then, I wasn't sure what to make of it; you said so many sweet things, but you were always sort of... stony. But now, your pulse picks up when I'm near you, and you blush properly, all over your face."

"I..." Dameon swallowed. He was cracking. "My pulse picks up?"

"My sword-singer training taught me to pick up rhythms in the world around me. Plus, when we were dancing, it was pretty clear. But that didn't always happen, and... I don't  _understand_  you, Dameon. Did you like me?  _Do_ you like me?"

"Oh, Rhen, I..." He couldn't stop himself anymore. She sounded so sad, so confused. He couldn't stay out of her reach. "I do. I like you quite a lot."

"Why?"

Despite himself, he chuckled. "Would you like the abridged list, or the full one?"

That got a smile out of her.

"Just tell me a couple things, please."

"All right." Dameon cleared his throat as if reciting from a written compendium. "Your kindness and compassion are the brightest I've ever seen. The way you connect with people on a personal level, and the way you can make anyone laugh, is indescribably attractive. You crave knowledge and wisdom, and you're resourceful enough to learn anything no matter the obstacles. And..." He tried to seek her eyes, but faltered and cast his vision down. "...Among all of the flawless creations of the Goddess, you are by far the most beautiful."

_That was the most honest thing I've ever said to another person._

Rhen held a trembling hand over her mouth as her face bloomed pink. He could see the smile in her eyes, and he couldn't help but smile back. He'd made his decision. He might as well enjoy it.

"Thank you, Dameon," she said finally, her voice wavering a little.

_I don't care if she takes Ahriman's deal or if she's queen or if we run away together and hide out in the woods for the rest of our lives. I'm going to marry this girl._

It slipped out of his mouth, a murmur, unguarded. "You're the real adventure, Rhen."

And then, all at once, she swept in and pulled him down by his shoulders and kissed him.

The electricity humming through his veins exploded into a wildfire. He didn't know what to do. He wove a hand through the hair on the back of her head and pressed her in, and wrapped his other arm around her waist, trying so hard not to squeeze her or pull her closer or let her kiss him into the wall, even though he so desperately wanted her to. He just let her kiss him. When she finished, he steadied her as she stood back down on her heels.

"I suppose you're fond of me as well, then," he said.

She giggled. That was a little odd for her, too. "Yes, I am, actually. 'I like you quite a lot.' Is that right?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you fond of... me?"

_You're just a demon's pawn, Dameon. Nothing she'll tell you matters._

But he wanted to hear it.

"I'm fond of you because..." She paused and hummed. He realized her hands were still on his chest, and he tentatively laced his own fingers over hers. She smiled. "I'm fond of you because you're a frozen ocean, walking through the world with a cool exterior, but when it's chipped away, there's a... a  _bounty_ of life, thoughts and ideas and traits, and it's all so beautiful, and I want to  _dive_ into it, because... you're an adventure, too, Dameon."

She buried her head in his chest. He hugged her.

When she composed herself, she looked back up at him and said, "You're also very handsome."

He laughed gently. "Thank you."

"Rhen!" called John from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready in ten! Mind fetching the kids?"

Rhen pulled back from Dameon, still smiling; he was reluctant to let go. "I think Galahad is eating with the knights," she called back.

"Tell him I'll feed his portion to the tiger if he's not here in ten minutes! It's frittata night!"

She shot Dameon her signature wily smirk. "Wanna go wrangle some hungry travelers?"

He linked her arm with his. "Sounds like an adventure."


End file.
